


Dissonant Peace

by hopeful_romantic94



Category: Fleabag (TV), Fleabag (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Melancholy, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Season/Series Finale, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeful_romantic94/pseuds/hopeful_romantic94
Summary: The audience "knows" what happened to Fleabag at the conclusion of series two, but what about the Priest?Set after episode 2.06
Relationships: Fleabag & Priest (Fleabag), Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 87





	Dissonant Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Though I know many have written their interpretations of what happened to the Priest after he walked away from the bus stop, I felt inspired to write my own take on it. The impact this series has had on me as a writer and as a human is insurmountable, and this fic is the best tribute I could write for some of my favorite characters and the creative genius that is Phoebe Waller Bridge.
> 
> A massive thanks to Katie_Dub, who kindly beta read this for me and encouraged me to post, though I will admit to being massively intimidated by all of the amazing fic and writers out there.

His legs felt like lead as he forced his feet forward, the bag containing his vestments bouncing against his leg with each step, though he didn’t notice the sensation.He was too aware of maintaining his willpower, fighting the urge not to look back at her and to honor the choice he’d made.

Not taking the bus meant a long walk, time enough to ruminate over all that happened over the past twenty four hours.Hell, the past days, weeks.Over all the time she’d been in his life, though really it hadn’t been much time at all.And yet all of it was most vivid, and he swore that every detail was imprinted on his soul, including the memory of her face as he’d turned away for the last time, offering a bittersweet parting smile and not an utterance of farewell, unable to take the finality of such words.

She’d stormed into his life like a whirlwind, leaving him unable to tear his gaze from her since she’d taken her place at the engagement dinner table, a striking creature who’d intrigued him so much from first glance that he’d feigned a smoking habit just an excuse to strike up a conversation.And though it hadn’t exactly gone the way he planned, it was enough to ignite a kindred curiosity, reminding him of things he’d done his best to forget about since he made his commitment to God.

Oh, he’d fought it, at least for a little while, but like the liquor he tried to hide from himself, each interaction left him aching for another, from sharing G & T’s in his office to seeing her at The Fête.Still thinking he could handle it, he’d handpicked those Bible readings, hoping he might see her again, completely confident that they could be “just friends.”Despite how many questions he dodged, she still knew him far better than anyone could even come close to, and the intimacy they shared in conversation far exceeded anything consummated in a bedroom, last night excluded.

The tears still trickled slowly over his cheeks, his throat tight and swollen with the urge to completely sob.He hadn’t expected her proclamation of love.That haunted him now, for the even the thought of her saying those words out of desperation hadn’t even crossed his mind or that the night before may have clouded her judgement.No, he knew those word weren’t easy to say, and yet she’d told him, no expectations or reciprocation attached to it.God, walking away from her was harder than he could have imagined, though he’d made it look so fucking easy, even down to the fucking word choice.

 _It’ll pass._ He wondered if he’d really meant the words for himself, as if the mantra would somehow will it to be true.People searched a lifetime for what they’d found in one another, and the solace he’d given her when she professed her love was to tell her it was fleeting. For himself, however, he knew it wasn’t true.She was that person, _his_ person, and he couldn’t foresee anyone else infiltrating his heart and consciousness in quite the way she had.

 _I love you, too…okay…_ Those were his parting words to her, as if professing his own love was some sort of consolation.Fuck knew it wasn’t.Her eyes were still wet with tears when he’d taken his last glance, and the devastation-wrought smile was no disguise.At the end of the day, it still hurt when someone didn’t choose you, and quite frankly, he wouldn’t blame her if she hated him.Hell, he probably would if the roles were reversed, for he’d offered enough mixed messages over the course of their brief time to warrant it.He’d half-expected her to punch back with “Well, fuck you, then,” for it would have been most cutting, this time full of bitterness unlike previously.Yet she hadn’t used it, perhaps those words too piercing for either of their hearts to handle.Fuck, how the hell was he supposed to go on after this?Was he just supposed to revert back, as if nothing happened, pretend as though he hadn’t just fallen crazy in love with a truly remarkable woman, only to have his vows stop him in his tracks, reminding him he’d already made a commitment?The church, he’d now learned in a most painful way, was a cruel master.

Before returning to the parsonage, he stopped by the rectory to drop off the vestments, not wanting them to be crumpled in a bag overnight.He tried to push away that even this sacred place reminded him of her, the way she’d looked that Sunday having a G &T with him after mass, or that night she’d come to visit him after their chat at the cafe went horribly wrong.Good God, was this how it would be now, being taunted constantly with the memory of her everywhere he looked?

He hung up the wedding vestment, the memory of its selection flashing briefly through his mind as he drug his fingers over it, which he quickly forced out of his mind.Remembering it hurt too much, the beauty and the pain of that day, the confusion and the laughter and all that came with it.His hand dropped away from it as though his hand seared from the contact, swiftly turning on his heel to head back to the parsonage, desperate for some sort of solace.

As he entered the living space, he retreated immediately to his bedroom, careful not to wake Pam as he tiptoed about.The last thing he needed was for anyone to see him this way, least of all her.There was no one he could share this with; even God seemed an inappropriate confidante given the circumstances.

He needed something to sleep, to drown out the emptiness he felt now more prominently than before her, their brief dalliance a taste of all that he’d given up for this life, and he couldn’t deny it left him still wanting, wondering if she still sat on that bench.A fight still raged within him against the urge to run back, forsaking this life he’d thought to be his salvation for a love he knew was that of movies and paperback novels.He bit down on his quivering bottom lip, shaking his head at how ridiculously lovelorn and tortured he must appear, practically living out _The Thorn Birds_ in the twenty-first century.

Changing out of the dog collar and matching garb into his well worn t-shirt and joggers felt like an exhaustive effort, feeling now more than ever like quite simply a costume than work attire.Perhaps he really was in it for the outfits, for at this moment, he’d never felt more like a fraud.Tomorrow morning, he’d go out, perform his Sunday services, pretending like everything was completely normal.He’d carefully reconstruct the walls with which he surrounded himself, keeping everyone at arm’s length.He couldn’t risk this again, not that he surmised there would be half a chance.No one could compare to her.

Retrieving an appropriate libation didn’t take but a moment, for he always kept some conveniently stored in the back of the elegant wardrobe, out of sight but not quite out of mind.He took a long swig of whiskey straight out of the bottle, slamming the bottle down sloppily on the nightstand as he approached his bed, brief flashes of last night flitting though his mind before he shoved them away.Then, he did the most fucking cliche thing he could have done as a man with a crisis of faith.He dropped to his knees beside the bed.

For the last few years, God, and perhaps more specifically prayer, proved to be a source of peace, providing his mind with a sense of quiet he’d never quite achieved.It was where he sought refuge when life on the outside appeared to lack the fulfillment he craved and instead propelled a series of failed relationships, familial and otherwise.Now, he hoped it would help him through the greatest test to faith he’d known thus far.He believed in God, of course; he wasn’t questioning that.Perhaps what he really queried at the moment was himself.

_Please, remind me that I’m doing the right thing, that I haven’t fucked up like I’ve done with everything else in my life._

Perhaps an unorthodox prayer, perhaps even more of a plea for reassurance than anything.Then, he moved on to his nightly prayers, though he couldn’t seem to focus on the “Hail Mary” or his own prayers for world peace when all he could think about was his own peace of mind.

 _Here’s to peace…and those who get in the way of it._ He’d really been on the nose with that one, even though he’d been completely off his face when he said it. 

He polished off half a bottle of whiskey in bed before his head fell to the side, his body still slightly upright as he drifted into a fitful rest.She haunted his sleep, which was clouded with vivid recollections of the night before, her lips on his, the drop of that trench coat to the floor, the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips as he’d traced them over her body, the way their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together…

 _Fucking hell,_ he thought, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he awoke. He tossed aside the blankets, acutely aware of how hot and sweaty he now felt, not to mention other things… 

He glanced over at the clock; it read 3:05 am. He’d been right; he was totally fucked now that he’d had sex with her.He’d certainly fallen in love with her before last night, but the intimacy of making love with her only deepened their connection, the intensity near overwhelming.When he peaked, he’d nearly been so overcome by the combined emotional and physical potency of their passion that he’d nearly teared up.In that moment, he understood why people called it making love, for there couldn’t have been more perfect terminology for what happened between them in her bed.

Now, though, he was left with the sweet torture of replaying that, knowing he could never have it again. He sat up in bed, leaning back against the headboard, resisting the urges of his body but still unable to erase the image of her face from his consciousness. 

She’d find someone; of that he had no doubt.A person that would be her match, in unwitting humor, gut-wrenching vulnerability, and searing passion.An incredible woman like her no doubt attracted the attention of men and women wherever she went, so she wouldn’t be lonely for long.He tried to use that knowledge to comfort himself, though it only sparked jealousy, knowing just how she’d look at them, how she’d laugh with them, how she’d fuck them. That last thought alone had him reaching for the whiskey bottle again for another long gulp.Maybe it would be that guy who made her come nine times in a single night, maybe an old flame she could rekindle a romance with, or perhaps someone else she hadn’t met yet.No matter, what he did know was that there was someone out there who would give her everything; in that, he had much faith.

How he wished he could be her someone…

His mind flickered back to the night she’d stopped by so late to discuss the Bible passages, when they’d shared G & T’s in the living room, chatter that transcended seamlessly into shamelessly flirty banter, the memory of which made him smile sadly as he closed his eyes, allowing the scene to replay in his head.

_“….I believe God meant for me to love people in a different way. I believe I’m supposed to love people as a father,” he’d said, impressing even himself with his explanation._

_“We can arrange that,” she replied saucily, flashing that incredible smile of hers._

_He couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he clarified, “A father of many.”_

_She wasn’t going to let this slide so easily.“I’ll go up to three._

_“Not gonna happen,” he’d replied, still desperately trying to maintain control of the conversation although even now he could feel his defenses weakening_

_“Two, then?” She queried,_

_Damn it, how could he possibly say no to that?Fuck, he couldn’t.The words fell out of his mouth before he even had a chance to think about what he was saying. “Alright, two,” he’d shot back, lost in the lightheartedness of it all…_

It seemed so innocent then, the way they’d teased each other, and now the memory made him laugh while he simultaneously teared up.What would it be like, to be the father of her children, _their children_?Until now, he hadn’t allowed himself to go there, and yet now he found himself wondering what it would be like to cradle her belly swollen with child, to watch her hold their newborn, to have their child crawl between them in the middle of the night in the aftermath of a bad dream…Fuck, he had to shake those ideas from his head before he drove himself insane with “what if’s?”

Knowing that sleep was elusive now, he pushed himself out of bed and strolled over to the closet, half surprised he could walk after all the whiskey he’d indulged in, to grab a zip up sweatshirt.He needed fresh air; perhaps that would clear his head of all these conflicting thoughts that, while not unfamiliar, were in rampant assault mode.

Hastily sliding into his sweatshirt and tugged up the zipper, he exited the bedroom, taking a glance at the whiskey bottle on his nightstand, half tempted to drag it along with him before forcing away the thought.Despite the fact that he basically hadn’t stopped drinking since he returned, for some inexplicable reason, he decided to refrain.The fact was he couldn’t drink her away, nor did he really want to, for as much as thinking of her hurt, she was also a reminder of what love really was, and why he’d sought it for so long.

He took a seat at the bench, where not so long ago he’d opened up to her, when he’d told her they weren’t going to have sex but that he wanted to be her friend.It was still dark, though not nearly as dark as when they sat out here together, their conversation spanning from celibacy to his irrational fear of foxes, something he guarded from most people.He’d wondered later why he’d even mentioned it, that perhaps he’d made a fool of himself by flailing about.She’d laughed, though, playfully teasing him about it, immediately becoming a recurring joke between them.With her, he’d felt totally comfortable being exactly who he was, and even though there was so much she didn’t know about him, she’d discovered the essence of who he was, something no one before her delved deep enough graze, let alone know.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, his mind still racing as he strived to calm it, desperately needing a moment of peace.His world hadn’t stopped spinning for days, and she was the center of that crux.The difference now was that there would be no more her, and that for as much of these last few weeks as she’d been his foremost thought, he now had to navigate his life post-her.Maybe he’d been foolish, done this to himself, but the fact was that he was just a man, and much as he might have wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself from falling in love with her.Another point he’d been right about.Celibacy was a hell of a lot less complex than love, and it sure as fuck didn’t hurt as much.

Later on that morning, as he performed Sunday mass, he stood before the congregation, the words nearly falling from his lips he knew them so well,He looked toward the back corner of pews, where not so long ago she stood, reciting the wrong response alone, breaking his concentration in a most delightful way.She’d made him feel like a teenager again, flustered and eager to impress the object of his affections, in his case a striking woman with a bold sense of humor and an uncanny way about her.

After mass, he bid adieu to the parishioners, feeling a bit robotic as he plastered a fake smile on his face, his words generic and his eye contact soft and unengaged.His female admirers, as he playfully coined them, lingered as they always did, trying to strike up a conversation or lean in when he shook their hands, and he felt nothing but humored them as though he wasn’t completely raw.Though they’d effectively thrown themselves at him since his arrival, they never tempted him once.He’d felt secure in his faith, perhaps briefly noticing their beauty but pushing back whenever his mind strove to wander further than that.That’s why she took him but such surprise.While the urges he’d struggled with for so long to control on the outside never left, he finally felt in charge of them once he entered the priesthood and that the complications they brought were no longer present.However, being with her reminded him, no, proved to him that what he’d spent so much time searching for did exist.Even if he knew priesthood would remain the ultimate peace for him, those years searching for love in all the wrong places weren’t some fool’s chase.Love was all the things he’d recounted in the speech at the wedding, the bad and the good, and with her, he’d finally known what it was like to feel it, all of it, in its finest glory and deepest treachery.

The state he found himself in as he retired to the rectory was strange, for his mind still wallowed in her.Sadness still coated those feelings, and yet now there was also a distinct sense of fondness as he thought back on the past few weeks.How many men could say they’d felt the way he did when he was with her, to love and be loved in an all consuming way?And while his body would probably ache for her for the rest of his life, he consoled himself with the fact that he’d had the chance to know what it felt like to know her, carnally and as a human being.

He hung his vestment in the closet, catching a glimpse of the wedding one next to it, finding himself smiling as he glanced at it, a stark contrast to last night when he’d dropped his hand away as though it scorched his skin.He supposed he would always remember that she helped him select it, perhaps meaning that she’d be there with him in some way at every wedding he officiated, a beautiful yet cruel irony. 

A sharp crack startled him, eliciting a jump from him as he whipped around to locate the source of the disruption.He caught a glimpse of the fallen painting as it hit the ground, which he’d only hung back up recently.The first time it fell, he’d cracked a joke.The second, he’d been struck in the heat of passion, a jolted reminder.Now, though, he took it as bittersweet affirmation of the choice he’d made, and he couldn’t help but smile sadly and shake his head, the tears once again threatening.God continued to show him signs, to guide him.Even she swept into his life for a reason, and while he could theorize, precisely why remained elusive. 

Maybe it wouldn’t pass, and maybe there was a good reason for that.Maybe he’d question this decision for the rest of his life.Perhaps if he saw her again some day, it would all come rushing back like a wildfire, or maybe neither of them would quite know what to say.As always, life was full of unknowns, of lessons and of heartaches.It took finding faith to draw comfort from that, from a circumstance so bittersweet.

He walked slowly over to where the fallen painting lay on the floor and took a few moments to replace it on the wall, chuckling a bit to himself as he remembered the look on her face when it fell, the utter shock on her face.He’d miss that, how he’d managed to always catch her off guard when he was certain few people could surprise her.It was something he’d taken pride in, and even something she hoped she’d think of if he ever crossed her mind.

For a moment, he thought of where she was now.Was she okay?Did she sleep as shitty as he did last night, with the memories as vivid as his own were?Was she thinking of him, too?He took a deep breath, reciting his own words back to himself, a mantra to keep him on track. _It’ll pass._

What he found out was that it didn’t pass, not for him.He thought of her often, though the emotional response varied from a simple smile to streaming tears, full body laughs to wanton desire.In many ways, he remained the big reader with no friends he’d identified as to her, keeping mostly to himself, socializing as obligated but not extending himself much further, throwing all of his energy into the church.Nights were the toughest, when he felt the most tormented, particularly by the more passionate and somber memories.Sometimes, he reached for a drink when it hit too hard, sometimes he sat out in the garden, other times he prayed.And while he often asked for mercy from the intensity of it all, he couldn’t say he regretted it.It was cliche to say that it was better to have experienced love and lost it than to have never known it, but he believed it now, in fact rather agreeing with the saccharine notion.

Every night, the last prayer he said was for her, effectively indicating she was his last thought before he fell asleep.The words varied; sometimes the prayer ran longer on some nights than others, but the conclusion remained constant and always made him smile and sometimes, if in a particularly nostalgic mood, chuckle even, as he closed his eyes, uttering the words softly in hope that they would be true. 

_Please, bring her peace.And may no one get in the way of it._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Follow me!
> 
> Instagram: @maryfgualandriauthor


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